Page 30 of The Murder Club

She took a minute to consider his words. “But you said the pearl necklace is expensive?”

“Very.”

“Then it can’t be Eric texting me,” she stated in firm tones. “He makes minimum wage and lives with his mother. I doubt he has more than a few dollars in the bank.”

Dom was reluctant to give up their most promising lead. “Could he have taken it from his mother?”

“As far as I know, they’ve always been poor. In fact, the church used to take turns buying groceries and leaving them on their porch.” She held up her hands. “Unless Mrs. Criswell came into some unexpected money in the past few months, it didn’t come from Eric.”

Dom shook his head. “I would guess by the style of the clasp that it’s a vintage piece. Probably sold in the late nineteen fifties or early sixties . . .”

His words trailed away as Dom was struck by a sudden thought. Not about Eric Criswell or the pearl necklace, but by the nagging unease he’d felt since coming to Pike.

“Is something wrong?” Bailey demanded, staring at him in confusion.

“Elderly women.”

“I don’t understand.”

“What if the two deaths are connected?” he abruptly demanded.

She stared at him as if he’d spoken a foreign language. “What deaths?”

“Gage’s mother and the woman in Grange.”

Chapter 6

Bailey stared at Dom, an odd whisper of apprehension sweeping through her as she moved to toss the necklace back on the kitchen table.

She should have laughed at the mere suggestion that the deaths were connected. Just because Nellie Warren and Pauline Hartford were approximately the same age and died within a week of each other didn’t mean they had anything else in common. It was a sad truth that people in their eighties died on a regular basis.

But she didn’t laugh.

Instead, she slowly turned back to stare at Dom with a vague sense of dread.

“Why would you think the two deaths are connected?” she demanded.

He studied her with a sympathetic gaze, as if he sensed the anxiety gnawing deep inside her.

“Someone has gone to a lot of effort to link your name with two recently deceased women.”

“What are you implying?”

He shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t know. I just don’t think it’s a coincidence that Gage Warren tried to implicate you in his mother’s death and then a day later you received a text that lured you to Pauline Hartford’s home. If the cops were investigating the case, they might have asked you some awkward questions about why you were there. Plus, that necklace left on your back porch has to be a warning.”

Bailey shivered, wishing she’d never joined the stupid Murder Club. So what if she’d been bored? She should have opened a bottle of wine and watched porn on her computer like every other single woman alone on New Year’s Eve.

“A warning for what? To join the private club? To solve Pauline’s death?”

“To play his sick game.” His jaw tightened.

Her lips parted to tell him that she didn’t understand the game when the dogs abruptly jumped to their feet and charged into the living room, barking loud enough to make Dom wince. Bailey pressed a hand to her quivering stomach, releasing a shaky breath. Her nerves felt as if they’d been rubbed raw, but she wasn’t worried about who had caused her dogs to gallop around like drunk wildebeests. Only one person besides herself could cause such spasms of joy.

Ignoring Dom’s frown of suspicion, she hurried to push Bert and Ernie away from the door. Then, pulling it open, she revealed her neighbor, Dorinda Lyle.

The woman was in her early seventies and had lived next door for as long as Bailey could remember. She was a short, square woman with a wide face that was emphasized by the headband she wore to keep back her brassy, blond hair, and she spent her days volunteering around town and bluntly informing whoever would listen how they should be running their life. Including Bailey.

Bailey didn’t mind. The woman might be bossy and intrusive, but her heart was always in the right place.

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